


Alone Together

by perestroika



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perestroika/pseuds/perestroika
Summary: "Can't live with him, can't live without him."Will and Hannibal wake up together after the fall.





	Alone Together

Will was still falling when he awoke. The moon and wind were gone, he could no longer feel Hannibal in his arms. He was surrounded by empty darkness. Was this what it felt like to drown? Was he already dead? The ragged breaths he drew tasted of blood and mildew, not the sea. Will experimentally wiggled his toes and flexed his arms, and discovered that the latter were numb and unmoving. He pulled harder against the strange resistance, only to succumb with a groan to the grinding pain that riddled his entire body. 

Bile rose in Will's throat, which he managed, barely, to choke back down along with his rising panic. If he could feel pain, then it seemed likely that he was still alive. If he could move his legs, his arms might be broken and maimed, but he wasn't paralyzed. He reached out with his senses, straining to pick out any details that might reveal where he was and what had happened. There was no trace of light to see by, and all that reached his ears was his own wild staccato breath and heartbeat. Taking deep, shuddering gulps of air, he envisioned the darkness filling him and replacing hot panic with a cool stillness. Faintly, he perceived a scent underneath the fog of damp and blood, one that made his stomach twist and breath hitch.

"Hannibal?" Will rasped softly, before being wracked with a coughing fit. 

"Hannibal!" He choked out the name with as much force as he could muster. The gash on his cheek twisted with the syllables and began to bleed anew.

The darkness nearby shifted. The creak of a mattress and muted groan focused the space around him more clearly in his mind's eye. He saw a small interior room, the berth of a ship judging by the rocking motions he had initially felt as a falling sensation. 

"Will," said Hannibal. "You need to be still. You'll pull your stitches." His voice was thick with pain and exhaustion. 

A light clicked on above. Reflexively, Will moved to bring a forearm over his stinging eyes, but was brought up short. He craned his neck to look. 

"Oh, fuck you," he spat at the blurry silhouette leaning over him. 

His wrists were encircled with metal handcuffs, the chain looped around a pipe at the head of the thin mattress. 

"Get me out of these, right now. Right now, Hannibal."

Will's voice was tight, the skin on his wrists already chafing from the pressure he was putting on the restraints. 

"Your anger is misplaced," said Hannibal calmly, as he sat with a grimace on the edge of his own narrow bunk. "I'm afraid our host was rather insistent on the matter. You're lucky you weren't cast back into the sea. Given that we were both in dire need of medical attention, I chose to pick my battles."

Will breathed heavily through his nose, eyes tightly shut. He wondered if it would be worth it to try smashing every bone in his left hand to pull it through the tight metal cuff. 

"Our host. You mean Chiyoh." Will said. It wasn't a question. "It's too bad."

He opened his eyes to meet Hannibal's questioning gaze.

"She would have enjoyed throwing me off of a boat."

Hannibal hummed in assent. "Do you feel that your design has been thwarted by our rescue?"

Will considered him for a moment before letting his gaze fall back on the low ceiling. "I took advantage of an opportunity that presented itself. To die together on the rocks would have been the best of all possible outcomes. Now the only question is which of us will end up throttling the other,  assuming our injuries don't kill us first."

"You wished to go out on a high note," Hannibal replied, his eyes gleaming. "To control the narrative, let us have the closest thing you could imagine our 'happily ever after' to be."

"You forget, Will," Hannibal continued, kneeling over him and cupping his face fondly. "I am the one in control." He stood, somewhat shakily, and ducked out of the berth. 

His words and the look of bald possessiveness on his face sent a chill down Will's spine that wasn't entirely unpleasant, if he was honest with himself. There was no point in worrying now. He could let go and let Hannibal, he thought with grim amusement.

Hannibal returned, limping slightly and looking exhausted by his short trip. He had a thin strip of metal in his hand, and after carefully arranging himself on the mattress next to Will, began to pick the handcuffs.

"Not long before I was captured, I had this vessel purchased through an...intermediary. I left detailed instructions on its upkeep and docking, although unfortunately I did neglect the interior design," Hannibal sniffed, casting an unappreciative eye on the yellowed paint and cheap paneling in the tiny cabin. "It was anchored very close to the house. I would have preferred a descent via stairway, but I suppose your way was quicker."

The cuffs clicked open, and Will had a moment of relief from the metal cutting into his wrists. The feeling was short lived, however. As soon as he moved to bring his arms down, his right shoulder exploded with agony. Every bruise and cut on his body came into sharp relief. Pain left him breathless, nausea crept up his esophagus at an alarming rate. 

"Toilet. Now." He managed to choke out the words before stumbling out of the door, fighting the motion of the ship and his protesting limbs.

Will collapsed hard on the linoleum floor of the head. He heaved a seemingly impossible amount of blood, seawater, and bile into the toilet bowl as Hannibal looked on from the doorway. Finally it ended, and Will collapsed back against the shower door, pale, shaking, and sweaty. 

"Just like old times, huh?" Will attempted a grin that quickly became a grimace of pain.

"Come back to bed," Hannibal said, and stretched out a hand to help Will up.

Will eased himself onto the thin bed and closed his eyes. His aching, battered body felt like it was literally falling apart at the seams. He heard Hannibal shuffle back into the small space, and shut the door. Will cracked an eyelid to look. 

"Water," Hannibal said. "And liquid morphine, for the pain."

He offered Will one of two plastic bottles in his hand, which Will accepted gratefully. He took two needy gulps, and set the bottle back down. Hannibal poured a spoonful of thick orange liquid and carefully fed it to Will. He took his own dose straight from the bottle.

Will stared, but said nothing.

Hannibal returned the morphine to a bag of medical supplies and returned it to a hook on the far wall. He switched off the light and moved as to climb onto the bed behind Will. 

"Do you object?" He asked, pausing.

"No," Will replied quickly. "No, I want- stay."

Hannibal grinned at him, and slid in behind Will. He pulled the covers over both of them, and wrapped his arm around Will, squeezing him close. 

Will hold his breath for a long time, then released it slowly. He found it easier than he expected to relax against the older man's body. It felt worryingly natural, in fact. He felt Hannibal's hand move up his arm and come to rest on his shoulder. He carefully felt and kneaded the tissue and muscle there, massaging away the stiffness.

"Is this painful?"

"No," Will sighed. "Not like it was before."

Hannibal hummed in response. "An old injury exacerbated by a stress position."

"Well, it has plenty of new ones to keep it company now."

Will felt rather than heard the huff of amusement on the back of his neck.

The liquid morphine had fully kicked in. The ache of his bruises and stab wounds faded into the background of Will's consciousness. Time seemed to slow, passing by in sweet, golden drops like honey. Hannibal's hands continued to roam across Will's body, light strokes and squeezes moving slowly down his arm.

"I want to catalog every single part of you in my sense memory," Hannibal whispered, his voice rough. "I want to tear you apart and know you by every cell in your body."

"Oh," Will breathed, his mind blank of everything except for Hannibal. Hannibal's scent, his touch, his breath, the feeling of his skin beneath Will's.

Will turned his head at an uncomfortable angle and crushed Hannibal's lips with his own, licking into his mouth. They gasped inelegantly into one another, until Will could no longer hold the twisted position.

Hannibal's hand moved under the hem of Will's T-shirt, ghosting along each of his ribs and tracing his pectoral muscles. He rubbed at Will's nipples, gently at first and then harder. His fingers rolled and pulled at the sensitive flesh until Will's head was arched back onto Hannibal's shoulder, a broken moan caught in his throat.

"Did you imagine me like this in your cell?" Will panted.

"Occasionally. I imagined killing and consuming you much more often. I never could quite settle on an appropriate recipe."

Will let out a hoarse laugh that broke when he felt Hannibal's hands move down to his abdomen and trace his scar. He gasped sharply, as if he was being opened up all over again.

"Beautiful," he breathed in Will's ear. “What about you Will, has your imagination taken you here before?

As the older man stroked the raised white scar with his fingertips and nails, Will felt his heart hammer in his chest. 

"Hannibal, please," Will begged brokenly. He was gripping Hannibal's hand over his belly, whether he wanted to tear him away or press him closer even Will didn't know.

“Tell me.”

“I dream about the night you gutted me. Usually you just leave me on the floor. Sometimes you pull parts of me out, while I lay on the floor and watch you cook them.”

“Go on,” Hannibal whispered, still stroking the scar.

“Once or twice, I dreamt that it happened in your office. You laid me on your couch and fucked my throat. Choked me with your dick until I died. I woke up hard. Couldn't get it out of my head for days.”

Hannibal hummed in consideration. “I have also spent a considerable amount of time reliving that night, as far as you're concerned. The sound you made as I- to use your word- gutted you, echos beautifully in the halls of my memory palace.”

Will could only whimper in response.

"You're very aroused, aren't you Will," Hannibal growled. "Your cock must be leaking quite copiously for the scent to be so thick."

He shifted his body against Will so that the younger man could feel his own arousal against his backside. He began to rut slowly into Will's ass and lower back. 

"Christ, Hannibal."

Will felt the pajama pants he’d woken up in being gently eased down around his thighs. He continued to clutch desperately at the hand Hannibal still had over his abdominal scar. His left hand began to lightly, almost playfully, circle and stroke Will’s cock. A surge of heat so strong that Will was sure Hannibal must have felt it went straight to his groin, making him whimper piteously. He watched as Hannibal’s hand stroked up his shaft with three fingers, then down again with two. It felt more like a cock massage than a handjob, not that Will would expect anything less from Hannibal Lecter. Over and over, he brought Will to the edge and then eased him back.

“If you cum without my permission, I will make you very sorry,” Hannibal whispered roughly into Will’s ear.

Will barely had time to process this statement in his drugged and sex-fogged brain, before Hannibal began to roughly jerk the head of his cock, coating his hand in pre-cum. Will arched against Hannibal, simultaneously trying to wriggle free and be as close as possible to the source of his torment. Every brutal stroke drew a broken moan from his throat. He jammed his tongue into the wound on his cheek to bring himself back from the brink, which flooded his mouth with fresh blood.

Hannibal stopped pumping him, and circled his open palm around Will's slit, gathering every last drop of the clear fluid leaking from him.

“Oh, please. Please, come on.”

With his knees, Hannibal violently shoved Will’s thighs apart before bringing his hand down and spreading the fluid along his perineum and between his cheeks.

“Spit.”

Will complied, letting the bloody saliva drip from his mouth and pool in Hannibal's proferred hand. He was shaking in anticipation and arousal. Behind him, he could hear Hannibal pull down his own pajama bottoms and begin to stroke himself with Will's spit. Slowly, he eased himself between the younger man's slicked buttocks and thighs until their bodies were completely flush. One hand came up to grasp Will’s throat, the other returned to lightly stroke his now painfully hard cock. The hand on his throat gave one quick, tight squeeze, and then Hannibal began to gently thrust and stroke Will in time.

What remained of Will's breath left him in a broken moan. “Is this-I can't- are you really here with me like this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Hannibal bent his head down to suck and nip at Will's neck. His thrusts continued, slow and gentle. Tender, almost. The tight space between Will’s thighs chafed with inadequate lubrication, but Hannibal didn't seem to notice or mind.

Will watched as Hannibal's fist slid up and down his cock, bringing him gradually closer to orgasm. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back on Hannibal's shoulder. His body was awash in sensations;  slippery pressure around his cock, Hannibal between his legs, behind him, over him. The feel of his chest hair rubbing against his back. The golden haze of the morphine seemed to compress and pull on time like salt water taffy. They rutted together for minutes or hours, it was impossible to tell.

Hannibal's thrusts came quicker and more erratically, and he bit down hard on the tendon between Will's neck and shoulder. With one final, heavy thrust, he tensed and ejaculated in three long pulses on the underside of Will's scrotum. If not for Hannibal's firm grip on his cock and neck, Will would have been thrown to the floor.

“You are the most terrible thing that has ever happened to me,” Hannibal said, his mouth pressed against the other man's neck. His voice sounded as ruined as Will felt. He began stroking Will faster, concentrating on the sensitive head. “I want to feel your release.”

It took less than a minute for Will to approach the edge, although he felt as though he would black out from hyperventilation first.

“Oh, oh fuck, Hannibal,” he panted. Every muscle in his body tensed unbearably as he finally came, spilling over Hannibal's hand and spurting further onto his belly. Hannibal continued to squeeze him, wringing every last drop from his exhausted body until Will twitched and writhed in overstimulation.

He felt the man behind him shift, and was gently rolled onto his back. Will opened his eyes, and saw Hannibal straddling his legs, head bent low over Will's stomach. He realized what he meant to do a split second before it happened, and it made a useless pang of lust shoot through his groin.

With an utterly savage look in his eye, Hannibal began to lap up Will's cum, first suckling delicately at his cock and then moving slowly up his body. He lingered at the scar he'd put there years before, tonguing and biting it with almost obscene enthusiasm. Will's heaving chest was given a similarly thorough treatment, and Hannibal hummed in pleasure as Will tangled his fingers into his graying hair.

When he had finished his task, Hannibal bit his way up Will's throat, and captured his mouth in a deep kiss. Will eagerly returned the kiss, despite painfully stretching his wounded cheek. Will found a perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that his blood and semen were mingling together in Hannibal's mouth. They broke apart, exhausted and breathless, settling down nose to nose on the narrow bed.

This closeness, their chests touching, feeling one another's breath on their face, this felt far more intimate than sex had.

“Was it all you'd hoped for?” Will asked softly.

Hannibal's lips quirked upward but he said nothing at first, his fingers slowly stroking Will's hair.

“Go to sleep.”


End file.
